


Farscape Odds and Ends

by BetanSurvey (Scedasticity), Scedasticity



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen, Possibly not screenreader-friendly, There's a lot of emphasizing with asterisks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scedasticity/pseuds/BetanSurvey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scedasticity/pseuds/Scedasticity
Summary: Ficlets and the like, all quite old, most originally posted on Terra Firma (or even Kansas!)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. Five-Item Lists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written before the Mere Anarchy series and I think can generally be considered canonical to it (note, that's Kid #2, not Kid #3!)

Five Things D'Argo Sun Crichton Wants For His Eighth Birthday But Knows He'll Never Get (Even If They're On Hyneria)

  1. The Zapoblix Grevysmit Virtual Reality Role-Playing Game. Dad has a bizarre phobia about virtual-reality games, and Mom doesn't think it's important enough to argue about.
  2. Not to be forcibly _socialized_ every time they're somewhere halfway-safe where there are kids. Or at least only be forcibly socialized when they're somewhere _definitely_ safe, so Mom isn't looming behind him like the Fralian Death Goddess.
  3. ...or in the safe places, that Dad and Mom aren't hanging around being all _kissy_ and _embarrassing_.
  4. To be able to use his real, full name without people widening their eyes and staring at him like he's an unexploded bomb. He knows it bothers Dad even more, though, so he tries not to complain about it.
  5. That people not be so reluctant to tell him the truth, and that it not be so troubling when he finally hears it.



Five Things Chiana Never Told D'Argo

  1. That she's been a farmer. It was labor service, when she was just into adolescence, and she hated it. The work was hard, the company was indescribably tedious, the plants made her break out in hives, and there wasn't enough food to go around. To get enough to eat, and later a transport pass back to the city, she started frelling her immediate supervisor.
  2. ...And that that's how she lost her virginity.
  3. What happened to her parents. But that's all right; even Nerri thinks she doesn't remember.
  4. That the public cafeteria on Nebari Prime served a very good soup which used to be her favorite food, and that she's never found anywhere else.
  5. What _exactly_ happened while he was stoned out of his mind on LoMo, and how she even knows. She was saving it up to tease him when she got in real embarrassing trouble.



Five Things Sikozu Did After Escaping Qujaga

  1. Dump Grunschlk. At the earliest opportunity that doesn't involve an airlock. (She was tempted, but he seems the sort that would survive anyway. A bit like dwarf metallites.)
  2. Get a faster ship, and a change of clothes, both in some other color than black. And grow her hair out. The military cut was for a reason, and it hardly applies now.
  3. Buy a new identity, and return to Scarran-controlled space. She has a lot of explaining to do, but it can't hurt any more than the explaining she's already done.
  4. Study the fallout and the new status quo, and quietly gloat over the paucity of Kalish in front-line missions. They're not free, but the leash isn't nearly so tight, and the war is done.
  5. Forgive herself, eventually. It was unique, and it is lost -- but the way things happened, her people got the same benefit she were hoping for from Peacekeeper attacks, and she rather thinks they *wouldn't* have if she hadn't acted. If their positions had been reversed, he would have done the same, only faster.



Five Secrets Moya Knows

  1. Where Aeryn would stand so she could see Crichton but he couldn't see her, in the days leading up to the mission to Scorpius's Command Carrier.
  2. How many times Jool cried herself to sleep, and why she stopped.
  3. What Pilot thinks about every crew member they've ever carried, and how the thoughts have changed over the cycles.
  4. Where young D'Argo has stashed almost three DRDs' mass in sweets. It's one of Rygel's old hidey-holes, long-emptied. Dee found it all on his own.
  5. What goes into Noranti's stews. Most of it, at least; some of it she still hasn't identified.



Five Things Rygel Did After He Got Back To Hyneria

  1. Establish his credentials as a warrior-dominar. After all, he'd been present at the last battle of the Peacekeeper-Scarran War, and personally fought Charrids. Also, he was (practically) present at the treaty-signing.
  2. Survey the damage to the Empire, and actually talk to a few of his subjects. They're very respectable and relatively sane, if a bit... boring.
  3. Turn Chiana loose on his political opponents. Not to do anything permanent -- just embarrass them a little. Or a lot. Either works.
  4. Have a very polite discussion with the local Peacekeeper commander regarding Hyneria's autonomy. The yotzes were next to useless during the actual war; they have no business pushing in now. And they don't have the backup to object.
  5. Send a packet of Hynerian lullabies to Moya. And several follow-up messages asking how young D'Argo is enjoying them.



Five Things John And Aeryn Are _Not_ Going To Name Kid #2

  1. Any of either of their parents' names. Some are rejected more forcefully than others, but they aren't on Earth and they aren't in the Peacekeepers, and the kid should have a name that reflects where he or she is, not where his or her parents used to be.
  2. Any name belonging to an acquaintance they're likely to actually encounter. It might be confusing. That's what they said to Rygel and Noranti, anyway.
  3. Any name belonging to someone who led or ordered a concerted effort to GET them.
  4. Hope, Peace, Luck, or anything else that might be too much of a temptation for the Forces of Cosmic Irony.
  5. Zapoblix Grevysmit, no matter how often Dee suggests it.




	2. Microfic: Data Analysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: Nebari

He submitted the list of those most suitable for the Establishment operative training track to the appropriate authority. With a smile of satisfaction in a job well done, he closed the files of data on preadolescent students. Now, what next?

Ah, yes. Five thousand young adults to be granted exit visas in a new pilot program. Target was those maladjusted to life in society.

Well, he knew where to start on that. Calling up the files of asocials, he began his analysis of misdemeanor counts, school records, familial background, and other relevant parameters. Always interesting to have a new challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1: "Asocials" was the very nebulous Third Reich term applied to anyone whose patterns of behavior were considered in some way inappropriate -- the cause could be anything from persistent criminal activity to alcoholism to promiscuity (in women) to swing-dancing to having breakfast in bed and painting one's toenails. Being identified as asocial could lead to reduced opportunities, arrest, and sometimes incarceration or compulsory sterilization. It seems like a concept the Nebari would use.
> 
> Note 2: This may or may not be OC Biasi from the Mere Anarchy series; either way this is consistent with that worldbuilding.


	3. Microfic: Public Service Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: Hynerians.

**It seems like the real business of the galaxy is done out in the air, and that that's the place to pursue one's ambitions. This attitude stimulates a growing crisis: Every cycle, millions of Hynerians are killed by integumentary hypohydropathy, a condition easily prevented by regular and sustained immersion in our natural aquatic habitat. What's safe for some may not be safe for you -- different people have different thresholds for damage. Don't wait until disaster strikes. Get tested today to see if you're genetically predisposed to integumentary hypohydropathy. It could save your life.**


	4. Microfic: Three-Cycle Reposement Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: A celebration.

They stand out from the others attending the Gala. The chamberlain is forbiddingly silent on their identities; they are simply "Guests of His Excellency, Rygel XVI." They aren’t Hynerian, and clearly aren't from one of the diplomatic contingents. The Banik and the three-eyed female shock by their presence alone. The atypically un-serene Nebari is prowling around the junior embassy attaches, while the Sebaceans remain focused on their offspring (the only juvenile of any species in sight) and each other, as body breeders will. Some people think they look a little familiar, but -- well -- Sebaceans all look alike, anyway.


	5. Microfic: Sibling Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: DRDs

Pilot’s attention was jerked from the navigational files by a... disturbance. Directing his attention to its source, he found DRDs gathered around, all their attention directed at the two grappling in the middle. One was getting some ugly scratches in its paint, while the other might soon lose an eyestalk altogether.

"WHAT is going on?" Pilot demanded, and the combatants wheeled back guiltily. "I said to integrate our -- newcomer -- into Moya's networks, not try to destroy it! Whose idea was this?"

After a moment, the DRD with the damaged eyestalk whirred. "But I was here _first_."

 _Frell_ Crichton!


	6. Microfic: Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: Braca.

The door of Braca's quarters closed behind him. Another day over at last, and he could relax with his chosen activity.

It was an addiction, one he'd forced himself to overcome during his rise through the ranks. It was too distracting, disrupted one’s concentration. But now, working with _this_ commander, he found himself turning to it once more.

He went to his desk console and sat, resting one hand on the controls as he called up the relevant program. Now he could forget everything but the little colored shapes falling down the screen, and fitting them together to clear blocks.


	7. Microfic: A Matter of Principle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: Delvians

_It's a phase,_ Mikaan repeated to herself. _All adolescents go through phases. She'll grow out of it._ "Dearheart, a very important part of our diet is made up--"

"I don't care!" Shenel retorted, head held high. "It's positively cannibalistic, that's what it is! _Barbaric_! And don't even start about the cost. Ethics are worth currency!"

"Love--"

"No! This conversation is over!" Shenel swirled about and stalked off towards her room, yelling over her shoulder, "I've become a carnivore, Mother, and you can't stop me!"

Mikaan sighed. "Will you at least consider eating fungi?" she called. "It's not a plant, technically..."


	8. Microfic: Live Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra Firma microfic challenge, subject: Critters (for the Beach Bash)

"Fine, Rygel, if it's such a great delicacy, *you* can get it out!"

As Aeryn had warned, the water was interfering with her aim, so the pulse pistol looked like a no-go. John not only hadn't been able to harpoon it, the harpoon kept breaking. Chiana and D'Argo had had more luck, sort of. Chiana *had* caught hold of it, she just didn't have the mass to do anything after that, and when D'Argo tried to tongue it, well-- Zhaan said he'd get feeling back any time now.

The eel-thing eyed them balefully, and made another circuit of the tank, shedding sparks.


	9. Ksenia-related fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never-to-be-expanded fragments on Ksenia from the Mere Anarchy series

She'd arrived on Arnessk barefoot, sunburned, and with a look of such wide-eyed naivete that she'd been set on by a pair of Zenetan pirates inside of an arn. That had gotten them dead in fairly short order.

* * *

Zee, it's your brother. Call me, would you? I need to ask your advice on how, hypothetically speaking, one might tell Mom and Dad that one's girlfriend is pregnant.  
[Transmitted from the Neutral Territories Flight Academy to the Center for Eleemosynary Medicine]

No need to worry about it, Dee. I sent them a copy of your message.  
[Transmitted from the Center for Eleemosynary Medicine to the Neutral Territories Flight Academy]

I'm going to kill you, sis.  
[Transmitted from the Neutral Territories Flight Academy to the Center for Eleemosynary Medicine]

* * *

"*D'Ar*go's got a *girl*friend, *D'Ar*go's got a *girl*friend..."

John groaned quietly and pulled the covers over his face. Aeryn rolled over to put an arm around him. "You don't have to get up yet if you don't want to," she pointed out, her own voice still sleepy.

"Not that... I'm tryin' to figure out the fastest way to get Pax to stop doin' that." //At least I never taught her the "sitting in a tree" song... I don't think...//

"*D'Ar*go's got a *girl*friend, *D'Ar*go's got a *girl*friend..." Back the other direction, now. And from the rhythm of the footsteps, *skipping*. "*D'Ar*go's got a-- Ow! What was *that* for, Zee?!"

There was no verbal response, but John could guess -- their middle child hadn't quite mastered Aeryn's death glare, but she was working on it, and it was usually practiced on Pax. He snickered under his breath.

"Oh, fine. D'Argo's got a girlfriend!" Pax yelled, just to prove she wasn't intimidated, then ran off. Zhaan just muttered curses as she stalked off, probably back to bed. Coming back to Moya from the Eleemosynary Medical School had given her the mother of all jet lags (half-day difference) as well as general crankiness.

Aeryn sighed. "Pax seems to have reacted to having Zhaan and D'Argo back here by losing several cycles in maturity."

"Not enough to balance how insanely grown-up Dee and Zee are bein'," John countered. Zhaan was sulking a bit about the interruption of her studies, but when she talked about it she just burbled over with enthusiasm and medical jargon. Some of it was probably trying to impress on them that she was an adult -- //hardly!// -- and shouldn't be dragged off just because her parents were afraid the Nebari *might* be about to conquer the universe, but she wasn't a kid anymore. And then there was D'Argo.


	10. What She Deserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from the _old sci-fi Farscape bulletin board_... Response to a "kill Furlow" challenge, not long after "Infinite Possibilities".
> 
> It is, and I cannot emphasize this enough, VERY STUPID.

Title: What She Deserved  
Author: BetanSurvey  
Category: Comedy  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Farscape belongs to the people who own it. These people don’t include me, and I am making no money from this fic, which is just as well, since I’d only spend it on junk food anyway. Nor do I own any other franchises... ah... alluded to.  
Note: Written in response to a ‘kill Furlow’ challenge on the Sci-Fi Farscape bboard.

$-$-$-$-$-$

John shook his head quickly, waving his hands in front of him in negation. “No no no no, we are *not* gonna do that! No frellin’ way!”

Aeryn stood firm. “John, you agreed with me that Furlow is too dangerous to leave alive.”

“I said Furlow was too dangerous to leave *unaccounted-for*. That is *not* the same thing, Aeryn. And this little trip is just as dangerous as leaving her runnin’ around, so I do not see the point in it--”

Ignoring him, Aeryn walked into the transport pod. “Are you coming or not, John?”

He quickly followed her. “If you’re insisting on goin’, then of *course* I’m goin’ with you,” John said, dropping into the copilot’s seat. “But I don’t think you understand just what we’re walkin’ into here. Goin’ after Furlow’s bad enough, but charging into the middle of some legal system we know nothin’ about--”

Aeryn sighed. “Open the doors, please, Pilot.”

John continued to protest, and Aeryn continued to ignore him, all the way down to the planet. Both of them had taken care to look over Moya’s data on the planet before leaving -- augmented with the information cheerfully provided by the planet’s government -- and Aeryn already had her itinerary planned, as she informed him when he tried to start planning himself. She parked the pod carefully in one of the designated landing areas, then they exited just as a brightly uniformed official approached.

“May I welcome you to Seh’sam, sir and madam, and inquire as to your business?” he asked politely, bowing.

“Personal,” Aeryn replied shortly.

The official bowed again. “Begging your pardon, sir and madam, but I note that you are carrying weapons. We require that all weapons be checked before leaving the landing field.”

“Thanks,” John said, unbuckling his holster, with Wynona, from his belt. He shot a glance at Aeryn, but to his surprise she was removing her pistol as well. What was she up to?

Carefully, the official assigned identities to pistols by means of thumbscans, and pointed out where weapons could be retrieved upon departure. “Thanks you again, sir and madam, and welcome to Seh’sam.”

$-$-$-$-$-$

Their black coats stood out. John couldn’t keep from looking over his shoulder. If anyone were looking for them... “Aeryn, are you sure about this?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“Sure she’s here.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t give up. “Sure you trust this... B’harnei guy who gave you the information.”

“John, look around this planet. Do you think there’s anyone here who could lie convincingly?” She sighed. “They let me look at their court records.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” John sighed. “I can’t believe I agreed to this,” he muttered. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I heard that.” Aeryn kept walking. “John, you know Furlow is a risk. She is on this planet, or was recently enough to be arrested for--”

“Theft, fraud, and ‘anti-social activity’, whatever that means, I know,” John finished. “Y’know, Aeryn, if anti-social activity is a crime here we might be in serious trouble--”

She cut him off. “We have already discussed this. If you are going to keep complaining, you can go back to the transport pod.”

He stopped complaining.

$-$-$-$-$-$

The compound was large and cheerful, its walls decorated with murals displaying colorful Seh’sam’i streets filled with happy, smiling people. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected. John tried to go through the door first, but Aeryn insisted on the prerogative. She stopped a few paces into the compound. John followed, and also stopped.

In the middle of the central courtyard was a large bier, holding a coffin. It seemed Aeryn’s informant, if that was the right word, had been telling the truth.

“Ah, friend Sun, welcome, welcome!” B’harnei himself hurried over to them, all smiles. “It’s so good to meet you in person at last! And this is friend Crichton? I’m delighted to meet you!” Before they could stop him, he gave both of them the traditional Seh’sam’i greeting, which was apparently to seize one’s victim... er, acquaintance... by the shoulders and squeeze the breath out of them. “Welcome to our home.”

John was speechless. Aeryn was not. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance as well, ah... friend B’harnei.” She nodded towards the bier. “Is that Furlow?”

B’harnei’s large, cheerful face grew sad. “I’m afraid so. I’m very glad you contacted us, friends. She had no friends or family on Seh’sam, and while of course we must bury some of our commune guests here, we always prefer that they have a ceremony with people they knew.”

John was struck by a fit of coughing. Aeryn was also slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. “We’re happy to be of help.”

“Yes, yes... I assure you, this happens very rarely in our commune. We were all so sad when we found out.” B’harnei brightened. “Would you like a tour of the commune?”

“Um, no, but thank you very much,” John replied when Aeryn didn’t. “It is very nice,” he added helplessly, looking at the bright buildings and gardens. “Much more... friendly then your average detention facility.”

B’harnei nodded. “Here on Seh’sam, we believe in trying to teach the misguided what they are doing wrong by helping them and giving positive examples. Furlow didn’t understand about sharing and helping others, which is why she did what she did before she was arrested. We were trying to help her understand, but...” He sighed sadly and shook his large head.

“Tough when that sorta thing happens,” John agreed faintly. “We... prob’ly ought to be going.”

$-$-$-$-$-$

Back in the transport pod -- B’harnei had courteously provided a vehicle to carry the coffin, which Aeryn had transported while John retrieved their wepons -- Aeryn opened the coffin. It was definitely Furlow. The mark from the rope she’d used to hang herself was not visible. Neither John nor Aeryn was very surprised.

Aeryn flew most of the trip back to Moya in silence, then abruptly told John to pilot and went back to the coffin. She put a single pulse blast through Furlow’s head. John nearly fell out of his chair.

“Makin’ sure she’s dead, baby?”

“Well, given our records with Scorpius and Durka...”

“True. Think we should see about getting Furlow dispersed?” At her shrug, John continued to speak. “I understand how she got herself arrested. Almost inevitable. But I’m tryin’ to decide why she... uh... saved you the trouble.” John paused thoughtfully. “I think maybe it was the communal living -- or maybe Seh’sam, period. A planet without money can’t have been very fun for Furlow...”

Aeryn shook her head. “It was B’harnei.”

John blinked. “What? He killed her?”

“Frell, no! He couldn’t kill a sand flea.” Aeryn shook her head. “But I was almost ready to kill myself after only a few hundred microts. Imprisoned in a penal commune under his direction all the time?” She smiled. “Furlow got what she deserved.”

$-$-$-$-$-$

End Note: This peculiar little thing was influenced by a couple of things -- killing Furlow in cold blood really wouldn’t be good for Aeryn; hence, killing Furlow would be on behalf of the author; but, I morally disagree with capital punishment! So, what to do to Furlow that’s *worse* than death?

Trap her on a planet without money, and lock her in a commune run by Barney!


	11. Never Take a Historian to a Renaissance Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terra Firma was having a virtual renaissance festival and invited fic on the theme; I took the "author" of "Citations Omitted" to an 'Eidolon Reemergence Fair" with a long-suffering lifemate.

FRONT GATE

The garish banner read "YE REEMERGENCE FESTIVAL!" The sign by the gate said "The Wild and Romantic Cycles Around the Eidolon Reemergence -- the Heroes and Villains -- the Pomp and Circumstance! Come one, come all!"

The ticket-taker was a Sebacean in what was probably supposed to be an archaic Peacekeeper uniform, all black leather and red imitation golgator skin. With spikes.

Yenethy turned away, hands going to her temples. "I can't. I can't bear to go in there. My head will explode."

Her lifemate rolled his eyes and kept going. "Stop being such a bore."

* * *

COSTUMING

First it was, "That's Charrid rank insignia, no Kalish would have been caught dead in it."

Then it was, "Oooh, yes, *all* the Luxan warriors of the era wore boots advertising clothing boutiques."

Then, "That fake Eidolon has the seams drawn all wrong. And not all of them were priests, you know."

And then, "I'm sure *some* noncomformist Nebari dressed that way, but I really doubt they *all* did. Especially the Resistance. That bodice isn't going to help anyone blend in."

After one silence, he had to ask, "Aren't you going to criticize the War Minister's hat?"

"...No, that's actually pretty accurate."

* * *

VENDORS

The sign advertised ERP CLOTHES. "I wondered where people had gotten those hideous yellow jumpsuits. And such interesting hats."

"Well, Erp Clothes, right?"

"It's Ear*th*, actually."

"Whatever."

The clothes inside weren't as garish. "Now that's just a perfectly ordinary t-shirt!"

"Hey, they say Crichton wore them--"

"At three times the normal price!"

"Yenethy--"

"But that Iasa jacket's not bad at all. They even got the symbols right." She took a closer look. "Shame it costs more than I make in a monen."

"Authenticity costs."

"I guess." She frowned at another rack. "Those are Akhna hats. What are they doing in here?"

* * *

GAMES

"I don't care. You are not wrestling the keedva. Even if it is just a Luxan in a suit."

"Spoilsport."

"I just don't want to have to carry you back to the vehicle."

"Fine. Maybe I'll try the paint shoot-out--"

She shrugged. "Sure. If you want to get paint on your outrageously expensive Crais wig, it's your lookout. But I'm not cleaning it."

He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you'd rather I 'crawl through the wormhole' with the kids."

"If you're sure you won't sprain your knee." She pointed. "Look, why don't you try 'Throw the foot-ball!'?"

* * *

CHARACTERS

"His hair's the wrong color."

"Yenethy..."

"And *her* hair is too long."

"*Yen*ethy..."

"I'm not sure Sebacean hair even grows that long. And can you imagine lugging that around in a fight?"

"Yenethy--"

"It's dragging on the ground. And what the frell are they wearing? Is that more fake golgator skin?"

"We went over this, Yenethy..."

"I like how *all* of them are in black, even the Delvian priestess. And look at that 'Qalta Blade'. He's carrying it like it's made of permafoam."

"It'd be too heavy if it wasn't."

"Yes, because it's *too big.* Frell, is that supposed to be the Stykera Stark?"

* * *

REENACTMENT

"You have to admit, this is a lot more entertaining than your boring dry historical stuff."

"You'd be surprised. Some of the Crichton recordings are very entertaining." She regarded the stage dubiously. "Not quite so much innuendo and scatological humor, but certainly entertaining."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Aw, this is history as it *should* have been. Now be quiet, the duel's about to start."

"Duel?"

"Crichton, Scorpius, and some Qalta blades. It's great. They keep quipping the whole time-- Yenethy, don't bang your head on *that*! It's distracting the people in front of us!"

* * *

RINGER

All right, yes, Aeryn Sun and Crichton had been obviously in love, but even if the melodramatic declarations of love, overblown metaphors, and public foreplay were *possibly* accurate, the Scorpius sneering jealously from behind a fake bush pushed it truly over the top. It was a relief when the scene was interrupted by the Nebari on stage cracking up. She suppressed it quickly, but at Scorpius's next line she lost it completely, doubling over with laughter.

"I wish she'd be quiet," Yenethy's lifemate muttered. "She's ruining it. And she's too old to be a proper Chiana, anyway."


	12. Fragment: Rain of Frogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I hadn't stalled out, this would have become the Mere Anarchy prequel explaining how Stark ended up more-or-less in charge of a thriving free Banik community running a shipyard and working on freeing other Baniks. It would have been epic. Crichton would have made WAY too many Moses references. Dee would have given everyone nervous breakdowns. We probably would have met a few of the Eleemosynary Banik OCs as kids. Sadly, it was not to be.

**Rain of Frogs**

**1**

John shook his head as the big cargo wherry pulled away from Moya. "It's not a commerce planet, it's a frelling *CostCo* planet," he muttered, not for the first time. He looked at the mountain of crates, barrels, and sacks filling what looked like most of the maintenance bay. _Yeah, getting all this stowed away is gonna be *real* fun,_ he thought. It could have been worse, of course -- they could have found out they'd actually gotten significantly *less* than they thought they had, for a given amount of money.

He was just glad Aeryn had been with him on the purchasing trip, and so was just as guilty as he was of accidentally getting the Grab Bag Special. God knew they were both going to be getting enough grief from Pilot as it was. _Next time they speak in so many metaphors I have no idea what they're saying, I'm damned well going to *ask*._

His comm crackled. "John?" Aeryn said, from Command. "They're clear. I'm coming down."

"Gotcha, babe. The DRDs are runnin' the usual checks." Only once had someone planted a tracer in their supplies, cycles ago now. The ensuing chaos had included shootouts, a trip *way* too close to a gas giant, those things which he could only ever remember as Evil Ewoks, Noranti and four-and-a-half-cycle-old D attempting to come to the rescue *in the Farscape module* -- they never had found out just which of them came up with *that* brilliant idea -- and ultimately a barrel of exploding marjoules. John, Aeryn, and Pilot were all *quite* motivated to make sure it *never happened again*.

Weaving his way between a precarious stack of crates and an array of barrels -- _Please, let those not be marjoules_ \-- John looked at the little yellow robots. "Hey, Pilot, how's it look so far?"

"Clear of transmitters, Crichton. However, I'm working on deciphering the inventory, and I must inform you that you seem to have purchased two tanks of live Arskeltlen eels."

"Aw, *dren*."

"Yes, but as the manure crates are sealed, I felt the eels would pose a more immediate problem."

"What? Manure? Pilot, are you messin' with me?"

"Of course not, Crichton."

 _He's smirking. I just know the four-armed bastard is smirking at me._ "Okay, yeah, I guess we should try to locate anything *alive* first. I knew the translator microbes were having trouble, but I didn't think it was *that* much trouble..." _Frelling Grab Bag Special..._

He had just found one of the eel tanks, and was staring at the three-foot-long, luridly purple snaky things inside, when the door of the maintenance bay opened to admit Hurricane D'Argo, easily identified by the loud, "Hurry *up*, Mom! I want to see-- Ooomph!"

John hastily abandoned the eels to check on his son, but D was happily picking himself up from a pile of sacks which probably contained clothing or bedding. "Drad! Dad, can I move these out in the corridor and get my scooter and then go real fast and--"

"D, we put a speed limit on the scooter for a reason--"

"But if I'm running into something soft--? Can't I?"

John sighed. He could see the appeal, he had to admit. "Ask again at dinner, when your mom's here. Speaking of whom--" He went to greet Aeryn with a kiss as she strode in, carrying the baby. "How're my girls?"

Aeryn smiled in return. "Remember, next time, you're watching the kids and I'm meeting the cargo." The smile slipped as she looked around the maintenance bay. "Although that may not be for a while. I think this is even worse than I was expecting."

With some difficulty, John tore his attention from his daughter's face. "Yeah. Behold the Grab Bag Special. Did Pilot tell you about the eels?"

They spent most of the rest of the day attempting to sort out the mess into keep, resell, junk, and maybe, and shift the keep category into storage. After Aeryn vetoed any more riding to and from the storage areas on the dolly, D helped by color-tagging items to indicate their categories, with 1812 at his side to minimize errors. The baby slept peacefully in her bassinet at one edge of the maintenance bay, safely away from any and all precarious piles of cargo. John and Aeryn alternated between moving things into storage and, when they needed a break, sorting.

At dinner, they tentatively sampled some of the odd assortment of food items they'd picked up. D had apparently forgotten about his scooter plans, and instead became absorbed in playing with his food. John couldn't blame him, really. The murrk meal -- kind of like starchy mashed potatoes, only blue and with a faintly minty flavor -- was just *begging* to be shaped into Devil's Tower. D's sculpture of Rygel wasn't bad, either.

They were cleaning up when Pilot flickered into view on the clamshell. "Crichton. Aeryn."

"Not more eels?" John implored.

"No. We've just received a message from Stark. He's asking us to meet him."

John and Aeryn exchanged pleased looks. They hadn't seen Stark in -- god, not since Rygel's Five-Cycle Restoration Gala. _Wonder what he's been up to?_

Aeryn answered for both of them. "Of course, Pilot. When can we rendezvous?"

"Depending of how far he is from where he sent the message, perhaps... ten to fifteen arns."

John nodded. "In that case, we'd better get our Little D to bed."

"Don't call me *little*, Dad. Da-ad!" D's yell slid up into a shriek as John scooped him up and swung him over his shoulder.

"C'mon, Sport, you want to be awake tomorrow mornin' to say hi to your Uncle Stark, don't you?"

"I'll be awake tomorrow," D said, slightly muffled. "You guys are the sleepy ones."

"Be that as it may, kiddo..."

* * *

They all went down to meet Stark, Aeryn carrying the baby again, D bouncing excitedly from parent to parent telling them about the epic space battle that had been fought in his cell while they were still asleep, complete with sound effects.

Stark's ship was of an unfamiliar style -- at least, unfamiliar to John -- and didn't look like it was in very good shape. (Not that he was one to talk, considering what his module looked like these days.) Stark, when he clambered out, didn't look like he was in very good shape, either. The scar tissue that made up the top right quarter of his face had smoothed a little more, but the rest of his face was haggard and his eye was shadowed. His greeting was subdued, but then he didn't have a chance to say very much before D latched onto his leg and asked if Uncle Stark had brought him a present.

"Well, I-- No, no I haven't," 'Uncle Stark' stammered.

Aeryn sighed. "Sorry, Stark. We were just visiting Hyneria, and Rygel showered toys on him, as usual." She glanced in John's direction. "I told you we should put a stop to that."

"You can't!" D yelled, alarmed. He let go of Stark and ran to John. "Dad, tell her she can't!"

"I will do no such thing," John said firmly, but hefted his son in his arms. "Maybe later you can show Uncle Stark your remote control hovercel-equipped Luxan scout ship. Uncle Rygel's latest outrageous gift," he added, for Stark's benefit. "I don't even *wanna* know how much it cost."

"But Dad--" D paused, and lowered his voice. "Dad, I still can't keep it from running into walls."

"Be that as it may," Aeryn said, "Stark, we have someone to introduce to you." She stepped forward -- not without another reproving glance at D -- and Stark blinked at the bundle in her arms.

"A new baby?" He smiled then, and looked a little less haggard. "How wonderful. When?"

John felt his face break into the usual dopey grin at the discussion of the baby. "About eighty days."

"We named her Zhaan," Aeryn said quietly.

Stark's smile grew warmer, if a little melancholy. "Ah. Zhaan would be so happy to hear that." He peered down at the infant. "Hello, Little Zhaan."

"Little Z," D corrected. "She's my sister. Isn't she cute? She has eyes like Dad's."

"Little D," John said, "is a little hyperactive this morning. Welcome aboard, Stark. Be careful of the maintenance bay, we've got eels. Whatcha been doing?"

Stark took a deep breath. "Crichton -- Aeryn -- I need your help."

* * *

They sat around the table in the center chamber, with Pilot on the clamshell, little Zhaan in her bassinet, and D playing on the floor with his spaceships -- the non-self-propelled ones. _What I wouldn't've given for that hovercel ship when I was D's age, or a bit older,_ John thought wistfully. _Heck, even my remote-controlled truck would never work right!_ But the immobile ones were a bit quieter, and a lot less likely to crash into other people in the room.

He took another look at Stark's drawn face. "Hey, Astro, have you eaten?"

Stark looked back blankly for a moment, as if wondering what this "eating" John spoke of was, then frowned. "No, I haven't. But--"

John was already heading for the storage unit. "You should try some of this pudding stuff, then. It *almost* tastes like chocolate, and is supposed to have nine essential vitamins and minerals. You look like you could use a bite." Actually, Stark looked like he could use a stiff drink, but on an empty stomach that'd probably knock him out, and they still hadn't heard what the problem was.

Stark stared at the pudding for a moment, then managed a few bites. John exchanged a concerned look with Aeryn. This was a new mood for Stark, and not like the calm collected Stykera he'd been since the Eidolons.

It was still early for lunch, but John grabbed a few pieces of fruit anyway -- it seemed less awkward than just sitting and watching Stark eat. Aeryn kept up a light discussion about their recent activities, including a description of little Zhaan's birth in a Hynerian hospital. John grimaced at the thought. The delivery had been free of violence, but far too full of fascinated Hynerian medical students.

Finally, most of the pudding was gone. Silence fell -- well, except for the space battle over on the floor. "Vrrrrrm, whoosh, ka-POW! Red leader's down! You're my wingman. Neener neener boo boo! Rrrtt-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-cchhhhh! Frell you, Charrid scum!"

"D'Argo!" John and Aeryn said, almost in unison.

There was a guilty pause. "Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad."

John sighed and turned back to their old friend. "So what's up, Stark?"

Stark took a deep breath. "I've just come from the Arrheniat system. You may not have heard of it, I'm told it's always stayed as far out of politics as it can."

"Arrheniat," Aeryn repeated with a frown. "That's a major source of transunonium, isn't it?"

"Yes. One of the largest in the Uncharted Territories. If the war had gone on much longer, they probably would have been invaded by the Peacekeepers, or the Scarrans, or both, for the transunonium."

"Trans-what?" John broke in.

"It's used in hetch drives, John," Aeryn said.

 _I get it. It's dilithium._ "And I've never heard of it because...?"

Pilot answered him. "Moya produces all the transunonium she requires, Crichton. Smaller craft generally have a single-use cel, replaced if it is damaged or -- rarely -- depleted. Transunonium is highly toxic to most species."

"Yes," Stark said bleakly. "Baniks have more resistance than most species, but it poisons us, too. Slaves rarely last more than ten cycles in transunonium mining or processing, fifteen at the most. And to make them last even that long, the owners have to provide medical care. It's a very expensive business."

"Ah." John nodded. "So this -- uh -- this system is full of slaves being slowly poisoned." And Stark had every right and reason to be outraged about that, but John wasn't sure what they could *do* about it. _One thing's for sure, we are *not* knocking over another Shadow Depository._

Stark shook his head. "No. It was, but-- Someone there has built these -- these machines, these automatons. They can do all the unskilled labor of mining and processing. And transunonium doesn't poison them."

Aeryn frowned, raising her eyebrows. "But surely that's a good thing?"

Stark looked back at her sadly. "It would be, except -- that makes the slaves -- superfluous. And since they're already suffering some effects of the transunonium, unsalable as well."

 _What, they're mechanizing down at the plant, they're losing their livelihoods--_ John got it. "Oh, no. Oh, god, no. Tell me they're not--"

"Forty solar days ago there were ten million Baniks in the Arrheniat system," Stark said, staring at his empty bowl. "Now there are under six hundred."

Aeryn closed her eyes and slammed a fist into the table. "Frell!"

"*Mom*!"

"Not now, D," John said hastily. Some occasions called for swearing. _Ten million people. They frelling killed ten million people, because they got some equipment which was better._ Even for this end of the galaxy, that was *cold*. "Stark, man, what happened? How'd you get involved?"

"I was -- traveling, not far from it, when I -- felt them -- it." The Stykera flinched at even the memory. "I went, to see what had happened, to at least -- honor them, as much as I might. I found out about the automatons, that my people were just--" He broke off, holding up a helpless hand. "But at one of the processing stations, the free citizens protested. Objected, to killing them without even looking for another alternative. They've protected my people on the station, even brought them food when the rations were stopped. There was a very strange woman who had chained herself to the airlock door--" Stark shook his head. "They can offer no alternative, they'll give up eventually, the delay won't last forever. But there is a little time, and I just -- I had to do *something*--"

"What did you have in mind?"

Stark took a deep breath. "That's why I'm asking for your help. An alternative. We can take the slaves somewhere else." He looked up. "What do you say?"

John exchanged a quick look with Aeryn, who answered for both of them. "We'll certainly come to the Arrheniat system with you, Stark, but we'll have to discuss what we'll do when we get there." She looked over at D, who was arranging his ships in formation while trying not to look like he was eavesdropping. "We're obliged to be more cautious, now." Risking themselves was one thing. Risking D and Z was something else altogether.

"Yes, yes, of course." Stark too looked at D, then over at little Zhaan's bassinet. "I just -- I have to try."

"I think we have to try, too," John said. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around it. "Shit, Stark, *ten million people*..."

"Dad!"

"Not now, D'Argo. Pilot, will this work for you and Moya?" Aeryn asked.

"We are plotting a course for the Arrheniat system as I speak," Pilot replied. "We hope we can help. However, we are going to have to discuss the details of this plan."

"There's no plan, Pilot, don't worry. And if we need one, Aeryn can make it." ...Yeah, the plan needed work. Like, for example, would six hundred Baniks even *fit* on Moya? Where would they take them? How would they get them off the processing station to begin with? _Maybe we can trade those eels for them..._

* * *

It took longer than usual to get D'Argo tucked into bed. Aeryn wasn't sure whether to blame the excitement of Uncle Stark's arrival, fascination with the live eels, or the nearly-chocolate pudding. She finally had to enforce a firm lights-out, leaving 1812 in the hall to monitor. Pilot couldn't change diapers the way Noranti had before she'd left to pursue another mysterious agenda, but he was very good at knowing when to 'not notice' behavioral infractions and when to step in -- better than she was, she sometimes thought, and definitely better than John. And D *listened* remarkably well to Pilot.

She got back to the center chamber to find that John had gotten out a bottle of raslak from their small supply, and had three glasses on the table. The bottle hadn't been opened, however, and she hoped that that would wait until *after* the initial strategy discussion.

"So, as I see it, there are three options," John said without preamble, as soon as she'd sat down. "One, we go in with guns blazing. That one's out, now." He paused; Aeryn and Stark both nodded agreement. "Two, the honest approach. We tell 'em we're on a mission of mercy, here to save their surplus Baniks. Three, we use a clever story, although," he frowned, "I'm havin' some trouble comin' up with one appropriate to the situation."

Aeryn winced at the thought of yet another convoluted "clever story." Clearly, the honest approach was simplest. "Stark, how do you think the station administrators would react if we just... showed up and offered to take the Baniks?"

Stark frowned, looking troubled. "I don't know. There's no *good* reason for them to object, but... they may not want to give away their *property* for nothing, even when they don't have any more use for it."

"Well, we aren't exactly loaded with currency," John said dryly. "Think they'd take the eels?"

"No," Stark said, though in answer to which part Aeryn wasn't sure. "We couldn't afford to buy them, not all of them, not *many* of them, even if the normal price were cut in ten."

"Could you persuade them that this is the best way to resolve their dilemma?" Aeryn suggested. "They want to the Baniks gone, they don't want their citizens up in arms." She paused to shake her head in wonder at the thought of the citizens' intervention. She'd never heard of such a thing before, though from John's lack of surprise she'd guessed he had. "We're offering a simple route to that goal."

Stark shrugged helplessly. "I never spoke with the station administrators. They are not -- available, to just anyone. Certainly not to me. I'm not sure how desperate they are. That does seem the best method. If they listen to reason."

"If, indeed," John muttered. "So, are we likely to run into any additional trouble if people find out we're planning on freeing the Baniks once we have them?"

"I doubt it," Stark said. "The situation hasn't come up very often."

"That's something, anyway..."

"I think -- I think I could try speaking to the administrators," Stark said after a pause. "At least *try* to do it the straightforward way."

Aeryn nodded. "This is your mission, Stark."

"We're just drivin' the getaway car," John contributed. "Although I guess we can hope it won't come to that."

When it seemed nothing further was going to be decided, Aeryn went ahead and opened the raslak. None of them said anything, but she was sure they were all thinking of the ten million dead of the Arrheniat system.

* * *

**2**

Aeryn leaned on a console, steadily regarding the view before them. Arrheniat #14 Processor and Refinery was an ugly, blocky thing. Some might say that Peacekeepers had no -- what did John call it? -- aesthetic sense, but of course that wasn't true. Their preferences were just very narrow. A Prowler was a thing of beauty, in its own way. This thing was not.

The system didn't have any naturally inhabitable planets, and not many planets at all, just two large gaseous worlds and, farther in, a belt... field... very broad belt of asteroids, where they mined the transunonium. The refinery stations were near, but not in, the asteroid belt. Within the belt, smaller vessels shuttled around, but Moya was still too far out to see much detail of the mining itself.

"I've been monitoring transmissions on the processing station," Pilot said. "It seems the Baniks are still alive, and the situation is still at an impasse."

"Excellent news. Thank you, Pilot."


	13. I'd forgotten all about this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% me projecting my complicated feelings about Christmas onto Dee Suncrichton, did I ever even post this anywhere, wtf.

From the expression on D'Argo's face as he slouched into the workout chamber, Aeryn knew she was in for an... interesting discussion. Still, she didn't let up on the punching bag. "D'Argo," she acknowledged.

"Mom," he said. He sounded -- not upset, exactly, but vaguely dissatisfied.

Aeryn kept going. Thirteen cycles, she was discovering, was a very difficult age, and if she pushed too hard he'd clam up.

"Zee and Pax are drawing pictures of reindeer," he said eventually. "Zee's prodding Dad for descriptions -- keeps wanting more details -- and Pax is just drawing red and green mini-Leviathans with horns."

"You used to do that. So did Zhaan." All three kids had started off picturing small Leviathans hauling an unpowered vessel. Not surprising, really. John never corrected them unless they asked. She stopped, finally, and rested a hand on the bag. Not out of breath. Good.

"Yeah, I know." D'Argo scowled. "Because none of us have ever seen a reindeer, none of us ever will see a reindeer, and we've seen those things Dad said were kind of like deer about *twice*."

Four times, actually, but she got the idea. "That's true."

"And if you think about it -- really think about it -- Santa Claus is a god-like alien. A *really creepy* god-like alien! What if he decided to deal with naughty and nice more directly, huh?" He rolled his eyes. "You know, that's why I decided Santa Claus didn't exist. No *real* god-like alien would be so -- so *nice* all the time."

As Aeryn recalled, the deciding factor had been when 'Santa's' gifts had turned out to be the same ones he'd accidentally found hidden in an unused cell fifteen solar days earlier. But he had to have been doubting by then, because the next day he'd confronted his parents with reasoned questions rather than hysterical accusations or betrayed anguish. "No, I expect none would."

"And the tree," D'Argo pushed on. "Once a cycle we dig it up, put it in a planter, drag it to the center chamber, decorate it, then later we un-decorate it, haul it back to tier two, and replant it in all that dirt, and the rest of the cycle use power shining sunlamps on it and use water to water it. And it -- it's *pretty*, yes, and it smells nice, and decorating it is fun, but -- but--"

"It's actually remarkably similar to the trees they use on Earth," Aeryn pointed out. "Going back to the planet where we found it every cycle to get a new one was impractical -- more impractical than the current arrangement."

"Yeah, well, the tree's all right. And the presents. But the stuff about winter -- it's not the middle of winter! We live in space! We don't have a winter! We don't have a North Pole, either! And we have snow if we happen to stop at a planet with some, which can happen *any* time. And most of the *songs* don't seem to have anything to do with *anything* else."

"Also true."

"And no one else does it. No one *anywhere*!"

"Except Earth."

"Well, yeah." D'Argo shrugged. "But we're not on Earth. So I can see why Dad would, but you, or Aunt Chiana or Uncle Rygel when they're around, I don't understand-- Are you just, just *humoring* Dad? And humoring *us*?"

She frowned. "D'Argo--"

"Because I-- I *like* Christmas, but it doesn't make any *sense*! And should I be celebrating something if it doesn't make any sense? If I don't think it makes any sense?" He looked miserable.

Ah. She'd been expecting something along the lines of the 'Santa isn't real' discussion, but this was different. She went forward, and put a hand on his shoulder. "D'Argo."

He looked up at her -- not as far up as he would have even a cycle earlier. They grew up so fast. But not yet. "Mom?"

"It's not supposed to make any sense."

"What?" He stared at her.

"It's not supposed to make any sense. I don't think it makes very much sense on Earth. It doesn't need to." She paused, but he didn't say anything, so he went on. "It's about family, and traditions, and 'peace, love, and joy' -- you forgot that part -- and with three kids around, it's about presents. It has nothing to do with making sense."

"Oh."

She lowered her voice. "I know it doesn't make sense. If you ask your father as a scientist, he would tell you it doesn't make very much sense. But realizing that objectively it makes no sense does not mean you can't or shouldn't celebrate it or enjoy it just as much as you did before."

"Oh." More than anything else, he looked... relieved. "Good."


End file.
